Flinch
by PsychoJuliet
Summary: They say sex is life's mediocre pleasure. But sometimes, it's all you've got. (Hard R for sexuality.)


Author's Notes: Thanks to the wondrous Centaur for letting me reference her glorious Viola, and special thanks to Tamsin for keeping me focused on finishing this.   
  
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Don't sue.   
  
She was drunk on Violas and grief, that's her only excuse for what happened that night. She had lost three crewmates in as many days. Reaper and Ace were torn apart at the hands of three agents, and the next day Jinx had succumbed to a brief battle with pneumonia. The immune systems of the newly unplugged were so weak; Jinx's death had not come as a surprise. That didn't make it any easier though. She hadn't been as close to them as she was to Switch, but they were her family nonetheless.   
  
They were in Zion to give the bodies a proper burial; Trinity found it unnerving to be surrounded by so many people after the long months of isolation on the Nebuchadnezzar. She hated the press of bodies in the corridors, hated the oppressive heat of the city compared to the chill of the ship. But most of all, she hated the stares, the glances of pity she got from fellow members of the fleet. Everywhere she went, soldiers would whisper, "That's Trinity; she's on the Neb. Poor kid." The consensus among the fleet seemed to be that Morpheus would get her killed just like the others.   
  
When she couldn't stand the atmosphere in the military wing of the city any longer, she wandered to the lower levels of Zion. There, people couldn't distinguish her from any other soldier in the fleet. People didn't stare at her in horror, or worse, pity. They just stared at her dingy, threadbare clothing and the plugs that decorated her body. She could tolerate that.   
  
That was how she found her way into a bar in one of Zion's seedier sections that night. She sat alone at the counter, taking shots of clear grain alcohol. The bartender didn't seem to notice that she was only seventeen years old, and Trinity didn't care to correct him. She was on her fourth shot within twenty minutes of entering the establishment.   
  
When a young freeborn sat down beside of her, she barely noticed. If she had been paying attention, she would have seen the way he looked her up and down, the appreciative glances he gave her attire -- a faded grey tank top and an old pair of Switch's trousers that hung off her slender hips, two sizes too big. She would have noticed the calculating look in his eyes when he motioned to the bartender. As it was, she was too caught up in her own thoughts.   
  
"What's a pretty Matrix girl like you doing in a Zion shithole like this?"   
  
His voice caught her off guard, and she looked around to see if he was talking to someone behind her. She thought about her answer for a second, then answered.  
  
"Getting absolutely shit-faced."   
  
He smirked then. "How many of those have you had?"  
  
"Dunno," she shrugged. "I lost count."   
  
If he was surprised by her answer, he didn't show it. Instead, he leaned in closer, and whispered. "I think you've had enough. Why don't you try one of these instead?"   
  
He handed her a new drink in a clear vial that reminded Trinity vaguely of something a chemist would use. She sniffed the contents experimentally.   
  
"It smells sweet," she commented, then knocked back the contents of the vial in one gulp. "God, it tastes sweet too. What was that?"   
  
"A Viola. Good shit, huh?"   
  
Trinity swallowed again, trying to force the lingering taste of the drink out of her mouth. "I guess. It must be an acquired taste." After a beat, she asked, "What does it do?"   
  
The boy answered with an easy smile, "Just wait. I think you'll like it." He was prevented from saying anything more because just then the effects of the drink hit Trinity, hard. Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared, and she had to grab the edge of the bar to steady herself. The boy laid a hand on her forearm, and she jerked away. For a moment, she looked shocked at the intensity of the sensation. Then comprehension dawned in her eyes.   
  
"It's a stimulant, isn't it? Not like alcohol." Trinity had to work hard to control her voice, concentrating to keep from whimpering instead of speaking.  
  
The boy had the grace to look abashed, "I didn't think it would hit you so hard." He seemed to be thinking something over in his head. "I'll walk you back to your room, 'kay?" He threw a few bills on the bar, enough to cover Trinity's entire bill, and helped her to her feet. "You live in the military wing, don't you?" At her nod, he shook her head. "Damn, you're young to be in the fleet."   
  
Trinity raised her chin proudly and stared at him through narrowed eyes. "I'm seventeen years old. I'm old enough to choose whether I fight and die in the Matrix or stay and die in Zion."   
  
The boy stared at her for several moments, guilt and surprise flashing briefly in his eyes, then opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it. "Let's get you home."   
  
Although in theory it was a good plan, about halfway to the fleet's quarters, the effects of the alcohol hit Trinity full force. Suddenly, it was impossible for Trinity to walk straight, much less point the boy in the direction of her room. They stood at the intersection of four walkways, and she tried in vain to discern the correct path. He went to read one of the signs, and when he turned back around, Trinity was sitting in the middle of the concourse, her head bent and her hands at her temples. Even in this position, she was swaying slightly, the world spinning beneath her. The boy shook his head again and helped Trinity back to her feet.  
  
"I'll take you back to my room to sober up."  
  
Trinity nodded wordlessly and they headed back in the direction they had come. The better part of the ten-minute walk was spent in silence, the boy lost in thought, and Trinity focusing on simply trying to put one foot in front of the other. When they reached his room, she leaned heavily against the wall while he unlocked the door and then he helped her inside.   
  
"I'm um... I'm Zinc." He held out his hand for her to shake, a blush coloring his face slightly. "Look um... I gotta apologize... when I gave you that Viola... I didn't know you were only seventeen." He paused, regretting his words even as he spoke. "I'm going to go take a walk. If you start to feel sick, the bathroom is through there."   
  
When he returned to his room a few hours later, Trinity was sitting in his favorite chair with her legs pulled up to her chest, her chin resting on her knees. Her eyes were closed, and he shut the door quietly, in case she was asleep. She lifted her head when he turned, pinning him with her gaze. In the dim, blue-hued lamplight, her eyes were strangely devoid of color. Zinc spoke first, breaking the awkward silence.   
  
"Are you feeling better now?"   
  
Trinity nodded wordlessly, still watching him with those strange, pale eyes. It was disconcerting, Zinc decided, she was disconcerting. Now that she was sober, he could understand why she was in the fleet. She was all intensity and potential energy, her muscles coiled like those of the big cats in the Matrix, ready to strike. So when she did, Zinc wasn't surprised. He was just shocked at her method of attack.  
  
Trinity unfolded her long limbs, standing up without a trace of awkwardness. She closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against his, firm and demanding. Zinc pulled away first.   
  
"I don't want to take advantage of you," he whispered, his lips a hair's breadth away from hers.   
  
"I want you to." She slid her hands down his back, resting them in the slight dip near the base of his spine, pulling him closer to her. "I want you to make me feel."  
  
"I don't even know your name."  
  
"Does it matter?"  
  
He shrugged and leaned down to kiss her, his lips equally as demanding as she had been moments before. Somehow, they made their way to the other side of his room, and before Trinity could realize, they were both nude and lying on his bed. When he entered her, she gasped, digging her short nails into the soft flesh of his shoulders. The last lingering traces of the Viola turned the sensation into a burning mix of ecstasy and agony. It hurt, a lot more than she remembered it hurting in the Matrix. Zinc looked up at her in surprise, genuine guilt in his eyes.   
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't know you were a virgin. Do you want me to stop?"   
  
She shook her head. "No, just... I don't want you to stop."   
  
He nodded slowly and laid a soft kiss on her forehead. He would have repeated the action, but she turned her head to the side, away from him. Had he been a different man, he might have pulled out and asked what was wrong. As it was, he was twenty-one years old with a beautiful girl beneath him. If she wanted to stop, he mused, she would say so.  
  
Trinity waited for the pain to fade, but it never did. As the speed of his movements increased, so did the ache in her body. It encompassed her, became her, until she was made only of fire, sweat, and raw nerves. When she came, it wasn't pleasure she felt, but a scorching rush of sensation, napalm, and agony flowing liquid through her veins. It left her breathless and limp, lying silently. She was barely aware when he came and collapsed on top of her moments later.   
  
When she couldn't bear his body on top of hers any longer, she shifted, and he rolled away from her. She sat up, staring at the chipping paint on the blue door across the room. He reached up, brushing a piece hair away from her face.   
  
"Fleet girls are so beautiful. You're all so tiny." He let his fingers trail along her jaw line and down her neck. When he ran his fingers across one of the plugs on her chest, she flinched and pulled away. She stood up without sparing him a glance, collecting her clothing from the various corners of the room. He watched silently while she slid her worn underwear and pants on, and then pulled her faded tank top over her head. When she sat down and pulled on her boots though, he spoke up. "Where are you going?"  
  
She finished tying her boots and stood up, going to the door. "I need to be getting back. My ship is leaving tomorrow."  
  
"What ship?"  
  
"The Nebuchadnezzar." She reached for the door handle then, but stopped when he spoke, craning her head back to look at him.  
  
"Before you go, what's your name?"   
  
She smiled humorlessly then, turning back to the door. "Trinity. My name is Trinity."   
  
She slipped out of the door without another word. When she turned the corner at the end of his hallway, she leaned against the wall, her eyes clenched shut. She felt the bile rising in her throat as she tried desperately to forget the feel of his hands on her body. She took four steps, then promptly vomited in the trash bin nearest to her. Her muscles gave out then, and she sank to the floor bonelessly, the taste of stomach acid and liquor strong on her tongue. She stayed like that for hours, until the lights that passed for morning in Zion came back on. 


End file.
